Jacky Orszaczsky's Wake

So you've been missing me eh, please find here at lrast a little of what I've been up to

I use to waste a bit of time at the Harold Park Hotel a number of years ago before a disastrous business deal saw it and the adjacent apartment development closed down for four maybe five years. It was then famous as a stand up comedy venue (I saw Robin Williams preform there) but the majority of the time I spent there was at so called happy hour evenings with a couple of girl friends who lived in a small terrace across the road and other friends. A nice quite pub with easy parking and good pool tables it was very pleasant as long as the trots weren’t on at Harold Park Paceway just across the street, then it was bedlam and chaos and certainly avoided by my friends and I.

So it was with some surprise that I heard the news that the recently departed Jacky Orszaczsky’s wake was to be held there last Sunday evening at four PM. I’d gotten use to its appearance as a demolition site and was most surprised at its re emergence as an entertainment zone, just as it seems it was, to others in the neighbourhood.

Jacky Orszaczsky though not a household name (too difficult to spell and pronounce) was to the musicians of Australia and especially those of Sydney, a very important guide and mentor known as the godfather. His Tuesday night gigs in recent years at The Rose in Erskinville and @ Newtown billed as Jacky Orszaczsky and Friends attracted most musicians free of commitment that night and it was not uncommon to be entertained by up to a fifteen piece orchestra masterfully arranged and conducted by Jacky from his stool ,side stage with his piccolo bass. These were not large venues, especially the Rose, but the audiences were, and the crush and clamour to be front of stage and with a drink, for what I always imagined was the best music you could hear in any part of the world that night, will be a memory I shall forever cherish.

Yes Jacky could pull a crowd and his memorial wake at the Harold Park was no exception. When I arrived at about four forty there were crowds spilling into the street, forty or more patrons in something like cues at each of the three bars, buying as many beers and bottles of sparkling wine their hands could carry to avoid another long wait. Music was provided at this early stage by an all string, I don’t know, bush band like combo but at about five thirty an ensemble of Jacky Orszaczsky and Friends, or friends minus Jacky hit the stage and the ambience of the Rose of old descended on the thrilled crowd. Before they could finish the first signature number though the crowd was further swelled with the arrival of maybe twelve members of the local constabularies, summoned by the outraged neighbour, protesting the behaviour of these middle aged to senior delinquents who dared to disturb his Sunday afternoon snooze.

From then till the mid evening close we were to have the comforting security of the police force, all of the Leichhardt and Glebe rosters I imagine, guarding us from the likely attacks of enraged neighbours. The price for their protection was a constant monitoring of noise levels and guerrilla skirmishes between patrons and police for pavement drinking space. The irony of all this is that the complaining neighbours who bought and renovated during the demise of the pub, on the expert recommendation of the real estate agent who swore that it would never re open, (fingers crossed) must on race meeting nights put up with race calls and assorted announcements through a PA system that can be heard two kilometres away in Balmain and huge crowds of drunken yobs drowning their sorrows with what little money they didn’t loose on the neddies.

All told the result was an event of just the chaotic proportions that Jacky revelled in, a fact not missed by the patrons who had a wonderful time remembering just what it was like being in the company of The Godfather.

Farewell Jacky.